Priest Adept
by Smudgebob
Summary: The story of a warrior priest as he goes through his training and engages in his first battle
1. Prologue

Priest Adept

Prologue

Rising from his old wooden chair, Father Arnum shuffled over to crumbling stone fireplace. Sighing deeply he poked the dying embers with a poker as ancient and battered as he was. Satisfied that the fire would keep going a little longer he returned to his chair and drew his faded robes tight around his frail frame. The small table in front of him groaned under the weight of the Deux Sigmar lying on top of it, its pages yellowed with age and its metal hinges rusting at the edges. Father Arnum creaked open the cover and began his nightly read.

A few minutes later the book lay on the floor and Father Arnum's soft snores echoed through the draughty corridors of the monastery. The sudden moan of the large oak doors outside woke Father Arnum with a start. Pulling himself out of his chair he hurried, wheezingly to the door. Rain hit his face as he forced open the heavily barred doors of the monastery and the chill ran through to his old bones. Stepping out into the miserable night Arnum peered through the gloom for the late night caller but he couldn't see anything through the darkness. Chalking it down to local boys playing a trick he turned to haul himself inside. As he put his first foot back inside, a flash of light caught his eye. Whirling round with surprising agility he looked to the sky.

An orange light blazed across the face of the morrslieb, the lesser moon, almost eclipsing its baleful green glow. Arnum's withered hand clutched at the hammer talisman around his neck. "By Sigmar," he wheezed "the prophecy". The shock was too much for the old man and he collapsed to his knees. He struggled to rise but the stone steps of the monastery were slippery and he tumbled down into the gutter. Stretching out his hands for the step Father Arnum felt something unusual, a wicker basket. With the last vestiges of his strength he pulled the basket towards him and peered inside.


	2. The Different Boy

Chapter 1- the different boy

Dieter Reinhardt shifted uncomfortably on his wooden pallet-bed. It was just before dawn and he knew that he would have to get up in just a few seconds. Sweat clung to his itchy linen nightgown and ran down his face. He had awoken screaming only moments ago. "Just a dream," he murmured feverishly, "just a damned dream". Dieter had the same dream almost every night. He would be huddled in a small wooden boat as it was viciously tossed by stormy sea underneath the hateful, sickly glare of Morrslieb. Father Arnum had told him often that one shouldn't neglect one's dreams as the servant of Chaos could warp even the most pious of men through steady infiltration of their dreams. Still it wasn't anything to fear, Nuln was quite far from the sea and besides he had no intention of ever sailing. Today was not going to be enjoyable; Brother Kriegman had told him yesterday that there would be a sparring session and that an important visitor would be observing it, no doubt Dieter would fail in some way and be forced to stay in this crumbling monastery even longer. He closed his eyes and tried to will himself back to sleep...

"Call the hands," bellowed one of Friars, knocking on his bedroom door, "Call the hands...call the hands!"

Dieter knew he would not enjoy the day.

After an especially frugal breakfast of cold porridge and water, Dieter rushed from the small refectory and into the training room. The room was the largest in the monastery, except for the chapel, and had hard wooden floors instead of the usual stone. There was very little light in the room as it had only two small 'arrow-slit' windows. Along the edges of the room there were different sized racks and chests containing weapons and training armour. Fresh sawdust had been spread onto the floor and the rich scent of smouldering wood tingled Dieter's nostrils. Brother Kriegman, the combat instructor stood impatiently in a circle drawn in the centre of the room, a large wooden staff held in front of him. There were three others in the room, two adepts and a well dressed man 

Dieter hadn't seen before. He quickly fell into line next to the two other adepts; he recognised one of them as Adept Mikhailson from his Theory of Theology lectures but he didn't know the other one.

Brother Kriegman brought his staff down with a crack. Glaring down at the three Adepts he intoned the chant all Sigmarites knew by rote, "Sigmar is a warrior god, in order to follow him we too must be warriors and fight in his name". Without thinking Dieter and the Adepts gave the necessary reply, "Through Sigmar we find the strength to fight that which is Chaos, without his strength we would fail".

Suddenly, without warning Kriegman spun around and delivered a forceful blow into Mikhalson's abdomen. Mikhailson coughed and fell to the ground where he writhed around clutching his stomach. Brother Kriegman bent down and, grabbing the Adept by his tunic, flung him into the wall. "You think you are ready Adept?!" he laughed, "What good will you be when the End Times come? Sigmar forefend that the Empire's fate lands on your scrawny shoulders!"

Turning to the other Adepts, Kriegman looked them both in the eye, "anyone can be an enemy, even me. It is up to you to be ready to fight anyone, especially people you know and care for as Chaos can turn anyone at all!"

In the corner of the room there was a small wooden rack, from which hung five staves similar to the one Kriegman held. Kriegman ordered the adepts to pick a weapon each. As Dieter and the other Adept went off, Kriegman helped Mikhailson to his feet and gave him his staff. Once he had the Adepts suitably dressed in leather breast plates with small metal discs on the shoulders and ensured each had a staff, Kriegman walked off to talk to the well dressed stranger. Dieter strained to hear their whispered conversation, he though he caught the word 'Karak' amongst other phrases he didn't know.

Turning away quickly, lest the instructor spotted him eavesdropping, Dieter eyed the other Adepts. Adept Mikhailson was still hurt by the looks of things as he winced when he turned but otherwise he perfectly healthy. All Adepts had been trained in basic combat since the time they were strong enough to hold a weapon so all three of them were exceptionally well muscled for their age. 

Combat was an essential part of Adept training and there were drills after every meal and before every lesson. The staffs were used due to their similarity to using a hammer, something only full Priests were allowed to wield.

"First up Adept Mikhailson and Adept Mauser," bellowed Kriegman. Mikhailson smiled weakly and, wincing, walked into the circle in the room's centre. The other Adept, Mauser, swaggered in to join him. Dieter snarled to himself, Arrogance was one of the sins he truly hated. The man in the corner was watching the two intently and Dieter could see that he'd drawn a small leather notebook and a charcoal stick from within the folds of his robes.

Both Adepts made the sign of the hammer and fell into fighting stances; Mikhailson spun his staff in an arc so it was positioned at an angle behind him and he had one hand outstretched toward his opponent and Mauser simply began swinging his staff in a figure of eight about his body. Kriegman stepped out of the circle and stood next to the keenly observing stranger. He raised his hands above his head, the signal to get ready. Mauser began growling viciously and Mikhailson was still showing signs of pain from his previous injury. The hands came down...

Mikhailson's staff lashed out from behind him, striking Mauser in the side causing him to stagger to the left. The staff came round again and Mauser only just turned it with his own weapon. Mikhailson simply spun around and dealt his opponent a sickening blow in the side. Mauser collapsed to the ground, winded. Looking to Kriegman, Mikhailson received the nod to continue and brought his staff up above his head. Gripping the heavy piece of wood with both hands, Mikhailson brought it thundering down—a gout of flame struck him in the chest and he was sent sprawling onto the floor. Quick as a whip, Kriegman was on him, stomping out the flames. Mauser lay there on the floor staring at his steaming hand. The observer stalk across the room and, grabbing the Adept by his underarm, bodily removed him from the room.

Dieter could barely contain his shock; Mauser had used magic! Turning to Kriegman for guidance both Adepts saw something they though impossible- Kriegman was afraid. Lowering himself slowly to the floor, the combat instructor motioned for the Adepts to come near. With visible effort he spoke, "I guess you two pass then". Both Adepts looked at each other in confusion, 

"Pass?". Kriegman managed a weak smile and clapped them both on the shoulder, "This was a test to see which Adepts would go to Karaz-a-Karak and complete their training; as Adept Mauser has been...eliminated from the proceedings you two will pass on through."

Regaining his composure Brother Kriegman rose to his feet. Smiling at both of the Adepts he motioned for them to leave, "go and back your things and get to the stables in ten minutes." The Adepts scurried towards the door, eager to leave the dreary old monastery. "And Dieter," called Kriegman, "Happy tenth birthday!"


	3. Of Dwarves and Men

Chapter 2- Of Dwarves and Men

Dieter turned his head to the side and spat. A white glint of a tooth showed through the red gobbet of bloody spittle. The blow had dazed him but he refused to let it show. His weighted staff felt slick with sweat and its initial roughness was lost on his calloused hands. He wished he had a proper hammer but Adepts weren't allowed them. Until he was Initiated he would have to make do with this wooden club-hammer.

"For Grimnir's sake boy, keep your guard high!" bellowed Master Krakaz from across the hall. Nodding wearily, Dieter positioned himself in the stance the Dwarves called 'Mountain's Keeper'; one hand on the very base of his club and the other just below the rounded nub at the top with the tip of his weapon in line with his forehead.

His sparring partner laughed roughly, "Tha' stance is na' good unless you're the shorter in a fight." Laying his wooden mallet down to signal a break, Valric grabbed Dieter's forearms roughly and forced them into the guard known as "Ancestor's Gaze". Eyeing the boy approvingly Valric tapped the staff with a thick forefinger, "This stance is better as it guards your head more without neglecting your lower body, see." A light punch from the dwarf was easily blocked by the staff with minimal movement.

"Remember where your opponents reach is, better to keep a low guard on small beast like Grobi and yer high guards for big bastards like Orcs or lanky buggers like Elves." Picking up his mallet the dwarf began to circle Dieter. After he'd managed to turn aside a few of Valric's blows, it was Dieter's turn to attack.

A swift blow to the dwarf's side was turned aside easily, as was a high blow to his crown. The third blow, more of a lunge than a swing, was easily dodged by his teacher. Valric's mallet came swinging into his field of vision, causing Dieter to jump backwards. He retaliated with a sharp jab towards the dwarf's midriff. Valric turned nimbly and let the staff pass him, grabbing hold of the base just above Dieter's hands. With a sharp jerk he pulled the staff away and Dieter was sent tumbling to the floor.

The shadow of the mallet loomed above him and Dieter rolled to his left. Wood splintered as mallet hit stone floor. Fighting his fatigue, Dieter ran to pick up his staff and turned to face his foe. A crashing blow caught him in the chest, sending him back to the floor on one knee. Holding his staff sideways Dieter thrust it forward to block Valric's downward stroke.

With a crack that sent tremors through his arm, the staff split in two. Without hesitating Dieter swung back; in one hand he held the weighted end of the staff like a small club and in the other he grasped the rest of the staff. Turning a blow with the rod end of the staff, Dieter struck Valric across the shoulder with the club end. Staggered, the dwarf's return swing was clumsy and low. Dieter knocked the end of the mallet to the floor with the rod and jabbed the club into Valric's chest, doubling him over wheezing.

With a newfound sense of co-ordination, Dieter used his two weapons in a way he never could have with the large, and to his mind, unwieldy staff. The mallet came hurtling at his midriff but, unburdened by the large hammer, Dieter leapt nimbly to the side. With something in each hand he could move much faster and defend himself better. Knocking Valric's wild swing off course with the club headed piece of staff, Dieter brought his fist into the Dwarf's face. Blood gushed down beard and onto the floor but the dwarf took no notice.

"Aha now the manling knows how to fight!" Valric roared, his face lighting up with glee at his pupil's improvement and at the relish of a better fight. Grabbing at Dieter's off hand, Valric shoved his mallet into the boy's ribs, lifting him off the ground. A swift kick into his unmentionables caused him to drop the squirming boy. Dieter swung out with both his weapons landing two meaty blows on the dwarfs head.

With a dull thud the dwarf collapsed onto the stone floor. An acrid taste rising in his throat, Dieter looked nervously around expecting some dwarf guard to come and reprimand him. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Master Krakaz storming over, beard bristling, with a face full of thunder. Feeling as though all his blood had left him, Dieter sagged to his knees. Clenching his eyes tight and gritting his teeth he waited for the punishment; a gauntleted hand across the face or an order to see old Master Vortan whose hands were like slabs of iron was the normal punishment.

A huge hand slammed down onto his shoulder and Dieter jerked his eyes open. Looking up at the Dwarf Instructor, Dieter noticed that he was beaming. Well his frown had lessened but for a dwarf as stoic as Krakaz that was as open a show of praise as could be managed. His bass voice rumbled in Dieter's ears as he spoke, "Well I'll have to ask Master Vortan to double your rations tonight lad!"

Stunned Dieter fumbled his bow as he rose to his feet. "I'm...not in trouble sir?" he asked tentatively. "Trouble," the old dwarf chuckled, "my lad no one's has floored old Valric in nigh on thirty years. When he wakes up he owes you a pint or two I'll say!" Grinning to himself Dieter tried his best to project the humble demeanour of a true Warrior Priest. The dwarf instructor looked at the shattered staff in his hands and muttered, " He'll need to get a new one these bloody things an' all"


	4. Late for Class

Chapter 3- Late for Class

His newly whittled clubs in hand, Dieter ran from the training armoury. Today was a long day: first combat training, then Theory of Divinity, then more combat training, followed by Magic and It's Uses and after lunch more combat training. Climbing the dwarven stairs two at a time, Dieter ran headlong into Kalazak. The engineer wobbled back, nearly fell, but balanced himself an inch away from the top step. Breathing heavily he glared at the sheepish Dieter.

"I am so, so sorry Engineer Kalazak sir," babbled the young Adept, "It's just that I am late for Master Krakaz's lessons and I..."

His voice trailed off as the dwarf began chuckling, quietly at first before turning into a full blown bellow that racked at his lungs and caused passersby to look uneasily at him.

Not for the first time Dieter Reinhardt found himself questioning the sanity of dwarves.

Wiping a tear from his eyes with a thick, grimy finger Kalazak chuckled to himself, "men, they live so short 'cos they use their time up with rushing." A passing dwarf overheard him and began chuckling too. Shaking a knowing finger the chuckling dwarf walked on clutching his sides. Shaking his head, Dieter knew he would never understand dwarf humour.

Stepping smartly to the side the Engineer made a mock bow at the young human as he passed, "No more rushing now young master, else you'll be a greybeard 'fore you reach the end of the corridor." Wheezing at his new 'joke', the dwarf strolled along the corridor, pausing to look back at the boy and smile.

Panting heavily, Dieter burst into the old stone training room. His breathing reverberated unnaturally off the empty room and his stomach sank as he realised he'd missed the lesson.

"Late as ever Master Reinhardt," growled Runepriest Khazan shaking his knobbly staff in the Adept's face. Limping over to the battered weapons trunk in the corner, the Runepriest grunted, "Master Krakaz told me you'd be late so I waited here." Ashamed, Dieter stared at the dusty ground beneath his feet.

Smiling wryly the old Dwarf gestured towards the door with an arthritic hand, "The rest of the Adepts are down in the Teaching Forge, I'll walk you there."

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Metal smashed down into thick rock as the Adepts swung their picks for the hundredth time. Sweating heavily, Marcus turned to Dieter, "Any idea what your hammer is gonna look like then?"

Wiping the thick sweat from his brow, Dieter looked over at his fellow Adept. Marcus was a head shorter than Dieter but was stoutly built and had hit manhood early. Thick stubble clung to the boys chin and his voice quavered from that of young boys to a bass tone to rival a dwarf's. There was no doubt that Marcus' hammer would be anything less than a mountain of metal stuck to a large pole.

"Erm not a clue yet," muttered Dieter and Marcus nodded smugly. It was no secret that the stout Adept thought Dieter's fighting style weak; as if one big lump of metal could beat his much faster style.

In truth he did know what his hammer would be like. During one of his history lesson with Runepriest Khazan, he had asked where any of the old Gromril veins were. The old dwarf blinked rheumatically and rummaged around in one of his many trunks, eventually pulling out a rusty iron bound book. During one of his few free moments Dieter had pored over the old tome. The book was a map of all the thousands of different mine passages. One passage was marked with the dwarven rune for Gromril but also with the rune for Skaven.

1


	5. A Mining Expedition

Chapter 4- A mining expedition

The old tunnels were littered with abandoned mine carts, picks, barrels of blasting powder and other random items. The torches mounted on the wall were sparse, no doubt to dwarfs being used to subterranean lighting. Dieter felt assured that his little mining endeavour would be perfectly safe; by his reckoning it had been over thirty years since the small skirmish that the book mentioned and that meant there wouldn't been any hostile forces nearby, the Skaven would have moved on.

Pulling his coarse cloak over his head, Dieter quickly scurried into an alcove in the wall. Huddling into the smallest space possible he held his breath. Two dwarf sentries, crossbows slung over their shoulders, strode past him muttering bitterly in Khazalid. As the dwarves turned around the corner, Dieter snuck silently towards the end of the tunnel. Ducking behind an abandoned coal cart he pulled the book of tunnel maps from the worn leather scrip he had slung over his shoulder. The tunnel was last checked twenty years ago according to the book but on the last inspection a single sentry point had been built.

Dieter held his scrip close to his body to stop the contents clanking as he stalked up to the stone sentry point. Another thing he'd never understand about dwarves, he mused, they absolutely refused to build anything out of wood.

A loud roar caused Dieter to leap up, cracking his head on the low tunnel ceiling. Clutching his throbbing head with one hand and steadying himself on the wall with another, Dieter fearfully stared into the gloom, trying to glimpse whatever beast had made that dreadful noise.

Peering through the darkness at the sentry post, he could see a large mound of hair rising and falling. The thing must be enormous! With excruciating slowness, Dieter rummaged in his leather scrip. His fingers clasped on the worn handle of the pick he had smuggled out of Engineer Kalazak's workshop.

Holding the pick in front of him, guarding his face, Dieter crept forward. As he neared the creature he could feel cold sweat drip down his back and coat his hands. Standing slowly he raised the pick above his head as he turned into the sentry post. Relief crashed over him as he saw that the hair was just the large auburn beard of the dwarven sentry.

Suddenly the dwarf sat up, coughing. Dieter quickly ran out of the other side of the sentry post. Crouching down out of sight he paused to catch his breath. How could I be so stupid, he thought to himself, a Warrior of Sigmar jumping at shadows. Disgusted at himself for his perceived cowardice, he carried on in a black mood.

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A small shard of metal hit the stone floor with a soft 'clank'. Dieter bent down and picked it up. Examining it he noticed that it was a much lighter colour than the standard iron he had found so far. He quickly stuffed it into his scrip and started swinging at the rock face again.

Dieter had collected a few ounces of the lighter metal he believed to be Gromril. The other materials would be provided by the dwarf blacksmiths when the rest of the adepts would be starting their weapons. Dieter could already imagine showing his perfect finished weapon to Master Krakaz and see the admiration in the old dwarf's face.

-Skreeeeeeeeee!-

The sound of skittering claws echoed through the tunnel.

Whirling round, Dieter held his pick in front of his face in the guard position known as Down the Tankard. Clutching his scrip with his free hand he took it off his shoulder and weighed it. The metal ore inside had made the scrip quite heavy but the strap was long enough for him to swing it around like a flail.

"kill-kill" "dwarf flesh"

In the gloom before him, a pair of yellow eyes could be seen as though hovering in the dark. As the creature stepped into the light it flinched, as though unused to even this pitiful lighting.

The creature was about a foot smaller than Dieter and covered in dirty brown fur. Its head was malformed with a long snout and pointed ears. A thick pink tail curled behind its bow-legs. Skaven, thought Dieter. The creature was armed with a jagged rock and what seemed to be a human skull. Dieter noted that the creature looked dangerously malnourished.

The skaven threw back its head and let out a stream of high pitched chittering. Answering cries reverberated further down the tunnel and the soft skittering sounds grew louder.


End file.
